


dreamt about you nearly every night this week (how many secrets can you keep)

by notcaycepollard



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety, Cluelessness, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Pining, background established anthony mackie/sebastian stan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 17:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10365588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard
Summary: “You’re being kinda twitchier than normal,” Seb observes after, taking Chris’ cigarettes and lighting one up, ignoring the fact that they’ve both supposedly quit. Mackie has fucked off somewhere, all nudged shoulders and meaningful glances before he went, and Chris is pretty sure Seb’s been put up to this on purpose like maybe he and Mackie talked it over, decided which one of them was gonna bring it up.“Are you sleeping with Mackie?” Chris asks, and Seb hesitates a moment too long.It's not jealousy, Chris thinks later, mulling it over. It's— it'strue, what he said: he doesn't swing that way, isn't jealous in a way that would mean he wants either of them for himself. It's just, he feels left out, is all. Lonesome on the edges, just like always.





	

It’s not like Chris is trying to jump to conclusions, or anything.

It really isn’t. He avoids speculation, industry gossip, all the bullshit that goes along with living in the public eye. Even during the Civil War press tour, caught up in the sideways pull of the tidal wave that is Seb and Mackie’s interview energy, he deliberately doesn’t let himself think about it. Whatever’s going on, it’s their business, it’s got nothing to do with Chris, it doesn’t matter, and anyway, he’s got his own life to get on with.

He manages to keep that attitude going all the way through until they’re back on set for Infinity War. Expects it to be great—they’re friends, after all, they’ve all been friends for so long, Marvel is nothing if not an experience that brings you together not unlike going through some kind of trauma—and it is, it _is_ , it’s just also—

It’s just also, suddenly, that Chris is all tender about it, heartsore. Finds himself watching them at the table read, the way Seb leans into Mackie’s space, how Mackie ducks his head and gives Seb these tiny little smiles just at the corner of his mouth, the inside jokes and private understanding they’ve suddenly got going on. It makes Chris feel crazy, seeing it. Makes him ache.

Maybe it’s just that Chris is, if he’s being honest with himself, not really over his break-up. Maybe he’s lonely, maybe he’s more anxious than usual, maybe he’s just overreacting to everything and should _chill the goddamn fuck out_ , god, but Seb puts his hand on Mackie’s thigh under the table like he thinks they won’t be spotted, and then Chris catches Sebastian biting his lip, the flicker of interest in Mackie’s face, and thinks, painfully too-honest, oh god they _are—_

“You’re being kinda twitchier than normal,” Seb observes after, taking Chris’ cigarettes and lighting one up, ignoring the fact that they’ve both supposedly quit. Mackie has fucked off somewhere, all nudged shoulders and meaningful glances before he went, and Chris is pretty sure Seb’s been put up to this on purpose like maybe he and Mackie talked it over, decided which one of them was gonna bring it up.

“Are you sleeping with Mackie?” Chris asks, and Seb hesitates a moment too long.

“Nooooooooo,” he says, letting the end of his word stretch out uncomfortably until it trails off into nothing. Bites his lip, brushes his hair back. “Why would you—”

“Really?” Chris says, amused and irritated in equal measures, and under that, something else he can't quite identify. “That's how it is?”

“What does it matter?” Sebastian asks, recovering his equilibrium, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You jealous? I didn't think you swung that way.”

“I don't,” Chris says, “I'm not, it's just— you could at least be honest with me, you know?”

“Yeah,” Seb says after another moment of hesitation. “Yeah, right, I get it. Sorry, man, it's just habit, right? This industry, you know how it is, you gotta—”

“Yeah, I know,” Chris says. “I know. Sorry, you don't owe me shit, I'm just all…” He waves his hand, hoping it conveys _just caught up in my own head,_ and Seb nods, claps him on the shoulder.

“Sorry to hear about you and Jenny,” he says, quietly earnest, absolutely genuine in the way that only Seb can be. It should be funny but it's sweet, his wide eyes, the way he chews his lip as he stumbles over his words. “Come out with us tonight, it'll be good for you. Won't be awkward, I swear.”

It's not jealousy, Chris thinks later, mulling it over. It's— it's _true_ , what he said: he doesn't swing that way, isn't jealous in a way that would mean he wants either of them for himself. It's just, he feels left out, is all. Lonesome on the edges, just like always.

 

He does go out with them that night. Expects it to be awkward, despite what Seb says: like he’ll be the third wheel, maybe, like between Mackie and Sebastian and whatever they’ve got going on between the two of them, there’ll be no room left for Chris. It turns out not to be true at all, to perhaps even be the opposite. He gets the impression the both of them are making more of an effort to include him, maybe, Mackie laughing harder than usual at all Chris’ dumb jokes and Seb smiling all soft and pleased at both of them like he loves it, leaning back in his seat and sipping his drink and letting Chris and Mackie dominate the conversation.

“You guys,” Chris says eventually, feeling a little verklempt. “You’re— you’re good friends, you know? You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah, Chris,” Mackie says. “We know you love us, man.”

“I just really—” Chris starts. Swallows the last of his drink, looks down at his hands. “You’re just real great, the both of you. I’m blessed.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Sebastian says. Squints at Chris. “Are you crying? I think you’re kind of crying.”

“Shut _up_ , I am not,” Chris mutters. “No, shut up, alright? You’re real great, and I’m glad you’re, you know, whatever this is.” He gestures broadly at them. Drags the back of his hand over his eyes, fumbles for his cigarettes, and then all of a sudden both Seb and Mackie are crowding in against him, Seb throwing an arm around Chris’ shoulders while Mackie strokes his fingers through Chris’ hair, deliberately messing it up out of the carefully slicked back style. “Ugh, okay, you’re the worst, I regret saying anything.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mackie shrugs. Leans in and gives him an obnoxiously loud kiss on the cheek. “You love us so much you’re crying about it. That’s sweet, Chris.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Go ahead, pick on me, you know how I am.” Chris knows they know—he cries at _Disney_ , for fucks sake—but he knows, too, logically, that they’re only ribbing him. And the thing is, he expects them to back off, to put some distance between them all again, and they just… don’t. Even when he goes outside for a cigarette, even when Mackie goes to the bar and comes back with a round of shots, they’re still crowding Chris, getting right up in his personal space, and at some point in the night Chris just accepts that this is the way it’s gonna be, Seb and Mackie pushing straight through the boundaries of normal friendship until Chris stops feeling sore about the way his last six months have gone. It’s nice, really. Some part of him kind of hopes it doesn’t stop when they’re all sober again.

 

It doesn’t: apparently Seb and Mackie are his new bookends, trailing him everywhere even when there’s no reason for it, and Chris would be mystified if he didn’t also appreciate the company. They’re hanging out in his trailer, tagging along to makeup even when their call isn’t for another three hours, making sure their smoke breaks intersect with his and inviting him out every week or two and getting weirdly handsy with him every time the three of them have had more than a couple drinks. Chris would say if it were at all plausible that one or both of them were trying something, maybe, but it’s real clear that whatever’s going on between them is more serious than not, and as it is, he takes the physical contact as comfort, Seb and Mackie just doing their best to cheer him up. And the thing is: it feels real good.

“We got a couple days off next week, huh,” Mackie says one evening, “you gonna invite us over to your place or what, Evans?”

“You want to come to my house?” Chris asks, confused, “to _stay_ , or…” and Seb makes this face he can’t quite interpret, grins sideways at Mackie.

“Well, _yeah_ ,” he says, “not all of us have an actual house in LA, man. We’re tired of fuckin’ hotel rooms, right. You should have us over. Cook us a lasagna. Let us play with your dog.”

“Oh my god,” Chris laughs, “you transparent _jerk_ , Seb,” and Mackie smirks, reaches over Seb to tousle Chris’ hair.

“Baby, you got no idea,” he says, and Chris feels like maybe he’s missing something here.

 

He does, in fact, cook a lasagna, knowing as he does it that he’s a fucking parody of himself, a good Boston boy following his mom’s recipe from scratch, browning off the sausage and carefully simmering the sauce down for hours. Gets the guest room ready, wondering for a minute if he should unfold the sleeper couch in the study too and then flushing hot under the collar as he figures that’s probably not necessary. Before he can get too far down that train of thought he grabs the nice sets of guest towels from the linen closet, remembering again how Seb had admitted, bright-eyed like it wasn’t something to be desperately ashamed of, that he owns exactly three towels, two of which were stolen from various hotels during the last press junket.

“I cannot fucking believe you,” Mackie had muttered, “seriously, what the fuck are you, Sebastian, you’re not a fucking _frat boy_ , how many millions of dollars have you been paid for this franchise and you don’t even _own towels_ ,” and Seb had blushed and shrugged and run his hands through his hair until Mackie was apparently distracted.

If Chris is being honest, he’d been maybe a little distracted too, but the point is, despite all appearances Chris is apparently way less of a frat boy than Sebastian Stan, which means he’s the kind of guy who owns multiple sets of nice guest towels, so. That’s something he’s just gonna have to live with about himself, he guesses.

 

Seb and Mackie show up together, dressed down like neither of them are expecting to go anywhere for the next two days except Chris’ living room and maybe his patio if they’re being adventurous, and it’s _nice_ , stupidly nice, their company in his house. It makes Chris miss his family a little less.

“Oh my god, you did make lasagna,” Mackie says, watching Seb getting down on his knees so Dodger can climb all over him and lick his face, “holy shit, Chris, you really didn’t have to,” and Chris shrugs.

“I like it,” he says, “cooking properly, I mean. It’s, like. Grounding, I guess? Shit, just don’t tell my trainer, right, I’m supposed to be on nothing but boiled chicken breasts and broccoli.”

“God, I feel you,” Seb groans, “I swear, Don tried to tell me I couldn’t have _fucking risotto_ until we’re done with the shoot, it’s so unfair,” and Chris makes a face, opens a bottle of wine.

After dinner they shift into the living room; Chris sits down on one of the couches, expecting them to take over the other one, but finds Mackie sitting down on his left and Seb throwing himself down on the other side, hooking his legs over the arm of the couch and settling his head into Chris’ lap like that’s reasonable.

“Comfortable?” Chris asks, trying to muster up irritation at how easily the both of them take over his personal space, but Seb just grins like he knows Chris isn’t gonna do a thing about it. Mackie drags his fingers through Seb’s hair, his eyes fond. Leaves his hand on Chris’ thigh afterwards as if it’s a completely normal gesture, and Chris feels a flicker of something run down his spine, just a little. Something that’s almost jealousy, maybe; he’s not— he doesn’t— but he kind of wants to touch Seb’s hair too. Wants to stroke his fingers through it until Sebastian hums under his breath the way Chris has heard him do when he’s very contented.

That’d be. _Weird_. Overstepping the boundaries, Evans, even if Seb _is_ lying all over him like Chris is just part of the furniture. Chris transfers his glass into his other hand, and then puts it down on the coffee table. Rests his arm along the back of the couch, carefully not touching either of them.

“I cannot believe they’ve let you keep this for this instalment,” Seb says, reaching up to touch Chris’ beard. “I have to grow out my hair for the third fucking time and you get to keep your goddamn beard looking like the softest hot philosophy professor, it ain’t fair.”

“You think I'm hot,” Chris says, stupidly, “that's pretty gay, Sebastian.” Mackie snorts with laughter like that's the dumbest thing he's ever heard Chris say, which, honestly: it's up there, and Chris flushes red, sips his drink to cover his embarrassment.

“Oh, come on,” Seb says, “you _know_ you're hot, you don't need to go fishing for compliments.”

“It's true,” Mackie agrees, “nobody likes a show-off, Chris, even if your ass is even tinier than Sebastian’s.”

“I'm not-” _I'm not showing off_ , is what Chris wants to say, _I'm just confused about what's going on here, Sebastian’s sprawled out in my lap and he keeps touching my face and Mackie's hand is on my thigh and I don't—_ and then Seb is squirming around in his lap, twisting his head back so he can scowl at Mackie.

“The fuck are you saying about my ass, huh?”

“Nothing,” Mackie says blandly, winking at Chris, and that just encourages Seb to wriggle even more discontentedly, which-

“Hey, cut it out,” Chris says, knowing it’s coming out kind of strangled. Mackie laughs. Reaches down and tickles the crook of Seb’s neck, and Seb arches his back, curls in on himself and rolls over until his face is pressed in against Chris’ hipbone. It’s not any better—it’s _really_ not any better, Jesus _Christ—_ and before Chris thinks better of it he’s reaching out, grabbing Seb by the hair and yanking him up out of Chris’ lap. Seb squawks, eyes going wide and mouth dropping open, and Chris rolls his eyes.

“Quit it,” he says again, “the fuck, it’s like you’re both five years old,” and Mackie starts laughing harder, leaning in against Chris’ side.

“You should probably let him go,” he murmurs to Chris, “that’s, uh-” Chris flushes, releases his grip.

“Sorry,” he says, “ _shit_ , sorry, I didn’t mean to-” and Seb shrugs, flings one leg over Chris’ thighs and settles easily into his lap.

“Baby,” Anthony says, sounding amused, and Seb gives him this grin that absolutely says he’s about to pull some shit. And then Seb curls his fingers around the back of Chris’ neck, leans down into a kiss that is really not anywhere near friendly _or_ platonic.

 _What_ , Chris thinks, and then, wait, _what_ , and Seb nips at Chris’ mouth, drags his teeth along Chris’ lower lip, and Chris is vaguely aware of Mackie in the background making an appreciative noise, his hand shifting higher on Chris’ thigh.

When Seb pulls away all Chris can think is how big his eyes are, lips flushed redder than usual, and Chris blinks a couple of times. Opens his mouth and closes it again.

“That bad, huh?” Seb asks, teasing, and Chris closes his eyes like maybe when he opens them this will have been a fever dream.

It isn’t.

“You kissed me,” Chris says, dazed.

“Yeah,” Seb says like it's nothing. Tilts his head sideways.

“But you two are-”

“Yeah,” Mackie says, and there's a meaningful pause, and then everything comes suddenly clear.

“Oh,” Chris manages, aware he still sounds stunned, “ _oh_ ,” and that's apparently the cue for Seb and Mackie both to start laughing. “That's what this has been about? All this time?”

“Well,” Mackie says, shrugging, “kinda.”

“I— oh,” Chris says, “okay, that’s. Yeah. Okay.”

“We can dial it back, if you want,” Mackie says. “If you’re not into it. Seb can, like, get out of your lap. You might have to take your hands off him for that to happen, though.” Chris blinks again. Realizes that Mackie’s right, and his hands have settled of their own accord on Seb’s hips, holding him in place.

“Huh,” he says, and doesn’t pull his hands away. Stroke his thumb up over the band of Seb’s underwear, his bare skin.

“Is that a yes?” Seb asks, sounding hopeful. “It’s just, you kept giving us these looks like you were pining for us, or something, we kinda thought…”

“I wasn’t _pining_ ,” Chris says, “I was-” Cuts himself short as he thinks about it. _I was just tender about it, just a little heartsore, I just wanted— oh._ Holy _shit_. Okay, no, he was absolutely pining, that’s… something. He’s gonna have to think about this at length sometime, reevaluate some known facts about himself, but suddenly, faced with a lapful of Sebastian Stan and Anthony Mackie pressed warm up against his side, stroking his fingers over Chris’ inner thigh, he figures why not throw himself in the deep end.

It seems easier to follow through with actions than words; he stretches up, brushes a kiss to Seb’s jaw and then turns to Anthony, hopes that what he wants translates into the kiss.

 

It must come across; somehow they wind up half an hour later with all three of them shirtless, Seb on his knees at Chris’ feet. Chris is pretty sure he knows where this is leading, but the way Mackie is kissing him, he’s more than a little distracted.

“Didn’t have to wax your chest this time, huh,” Anthony asks, teasing. Strokes his fingers over Chris’ pecs, brushing one nipple, and Chris draws in a sharp breath. “Really? You sensitive?”

“Yeah,” Chris manages, and that has Mackie touching his nipples again, pinching one wickedly until Chris grabs at his hand, pulls it away. He’s almost too caught up in it to notice Sebastian undoing his belt, unzipping his fly and pulling out his dick, and then he gets his mouth on it and Chris makes a noise so loud he’s immediately blushing.

“Yeah, he’s good at that, right?” Mackie murmurs, low and hot in Chris’ ear, and Chris groans, throws his head back, squeezes his eyes shut. Seb’s _mouth_ , Christ, he is good at it, it’s almost too much to handle. “Hey, just breathe,” Mackie tells him, sounding maybe a little concerned, and Chris sucks in a breath. Opens his eyes. “There you are. Come here, man.” Mackie brushes his fingertips to Chris’ jaw. Rubs his thumb over Chris’ pulse-point, and guides him into a kiss, long and slow and hot, and Seb pulls off Chris’ dick, his mouth making an obscenely wet noise.

“You two look good like that,” he says, voice rough, a little hoarse, and licks at the head of Chris’ dick, teasing until Chris hears himself whine into Anthony’s mouth.

“He’s a little shit,” Mackie tells Chris confidentially. “It’s a problem.” Guides Chris’ hand down to Seb’s hair, grabs a good fistful like he’s showing Chris how to do it. “Pull his hair, he likes that,” and Chris follows instruction, tightening his grip until it must hurt, sees how Seb’s pupils go huge and unfocused.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Chris says, a little awed, and Mackie grins.

“Fun, right? Hey, baby, the fuck are you on your knees for if you ain’t gonna suck it, huh?” Seb flushes red, gets his mouth back on Chris’ dick, swallows it down until it hits the back of his throat, and Chris makes a strangled noise, clutches harder at Seb’s hair. Shit, no wonder Seb had reacted like he did when Chris had grabbed him by the hair, it’s suddenly clear now, and Chris lifts his hips up into it, fucks Seb’s face a little.

“Shit,” he says, “ _shit_ , I’m gonna— Seb, I’m gonna come,” and Seb flicks his gaze up, keeps going and keeps going, and Mackie kisses Chris’ shoulder, leans down to flick his tongue over Chris’ nipple, and it just— that’s it, that’s _it_ , Chris is shooting a load straight down Seb’s throat, Seb’s lashes fluttering as he swallows and swallows around Chris’ dick.

 

“Holy fuck,” Chris manages after a minute or two, “that’s— holy _fuck_ , you guys. You sure know how to make it good, huh.”

“Pal,” Seb says seriously, “we’re just getting started, okay.”

“You want to take us to bed or what?” Mackie asks, and that’s—  _yes_ , Chris wants to take them to bed, Jesus god does he.

“Down the, uh,” he says, “it’s just down the, the hall.”

“Well then,” Mackie says, sweet, “what are we waiting for?”

“Yeah,” Chris says, “yeah, I just, shit, I better put the dog in his crate for the night, I’ll be back, okay?”

“Of course,” Mackie says. Gives him that smile Chris can’t resist, slow and sly in the corner of his mouth, and Chris gets up, considers briefly whether to do up his jeans again and then shrugs, kicks them off so that he’s just in his underwear.

It doesn’t take him long to get Dodger settled, to put the rest of the lasagna in the fridge under some clingfilm and make sure the doors are locked. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge while he’s in the kitchen. Drinks about half of it in one go, catches sight of his reflection in the stainless steel. He’s flushed, cheeks red, and he presses the bottle against his face, takes a deep breath. This is— it’s good, right? It’s something he wants to explore?

 _You can do this, Chris Evans_ , he tells himself, _it’s no big, just a threesome with two of your best friends_ , and laughs at himself and his pep talks.

When he gets back, Seb and Mackie are still in the living room, curled into each other with their foreheads pressed together, and Chris thinks, oh _fuck_ they’re hot, they’re beautiful, this is— they’re— 

They’re _Seb and Mackie_ , is the thing, and suddenly his doubts come back, that ache of _what if_ , and he bites his lip, hesitates a moment, two.

“Oh hey,” Mackie says, looking up and catching sight of him, “all set?”

“Yeah,” Chris says, “yeah, it— it’s good, it’s fine,” and his anxiety must show all over his stupid fucking face because Anthony’s eyes go all soft like he knows what’s going on.

“C’mere,” he says, “we missed you, right?”

“Yeah,” Seb agrees, “we definitely missed you.”

“I was gone for, like, _five minutes_ ,” Chris tells them, but he can tell what they’re trying to do: the Seb and Mackie bookends again, and he’s not going to lie, it feels real great every time. “Okay, okay. Bedroom?”

“Sure,” Mackie says. Kisses the corner of Chris’ mouth. “Go on, take us to your bedroom, baby.”

Somehow they all make it into Chris’ room despite how they keep stopping to make out on the way. Chris doesn’t really have time to be self-conscious about any of it, the way he knows it’s more personal than any part of his house they’ve seen so far; it feels good to have them there, to have them seeing how he lives when he’s not somewhere a reporter might visit. It’s just. It feels right, maybe.

“Nice,” Seb says, appreciative, and Chris rolls his eyes, because this is a kid who doesn’t own towels.

“No, it is nice,” Mackie tells him, which makes Chris blush a little, ducking his head; he’s pretty sure Mackie knows how Chris values his opinion, always seeking him out for approval. There’s something there for both him and Seb, maybe, that they just wanna be told how good they are.

“Can I-” Chris says, suddenly shy, “I mean, I just wanna…”

“ _Oh_ ,” Mackie murmurs. Smiles at him, very soft. “Yeah, of course you can. Need me to talk you through it?”

“I think I can figure out sucking a dick,” Chris says, dry, and hears Seb laugh so hard he snorts. “Shut up, Sebastian.” And then he’s on his knees, fumbling with Mackie’s belt, pressing a kiss to the smooth dark skin of Mackie’s hip. For all his projected confidence he’s suddenly like, _what the fuck do I do, oh god_ , but even though he’s never been on this end of a blowjob before it’s not like he doesn’t know what feels good, right? On that basis he licks a stripe up the underside of Mackie’s dick, tongues at the head of it for a moment and then wraps his lips around it, careful with his teeth.

Mackie’s— Mackie’s _dick is in his mouth_ , holy _shit_ , Mackie is groaning a little, his hand coming down to gently cradle the back of Chris’ head, and Chris gets more confident, swirls his tongue around the underside where he knows it feels good, bobs his head down a little. Clutches at Mackie’s hips. It’s heavy on his tongue, his lips, the salt of pre-come and the way Mackie gasps like whatever Chris is doing feels great, Chris is on his knees and he’s _sucking a dick_ and he, he honest to god didn’t think he swung this way but he’s rapidly changing that opinion of himself. He feels powerful, suddenly, like he’s the one in control here. Recognizes that the way Mackie is touching him is different to how he’d touched Seb: maybe that’s just how it is, maybe Mackie knows Seb likes it rough, or something, but Chris suddenly feels like he could do this for another hour. Wants to hear Mackie lose it, maybe. Wants to be the one who can make Mackie lose it.

“Holy _shit_ that’s pretty,” he hears Seb say in the background, sounding gleeful, and Mackie makes a disapproving noise.

“Stop taking photos, you brat, and get your pants off. Yeah, baby, Chris, that’s so good. Just like that, huh? _Fuck_ , your mouth is good for me, goddamn.” The encouragement is enough to make Chris get bold, to push himself down further, and then Mackie’s dick hits the back of his throat and he gags, comes up sputtering for breath.

“Not as easy as it looks, huh,” Seb says from the bed, where he’s sprawled naked on his stomach with his chin propped in his hands like he’d rather be doing nothing in the world than watching the show Chris and Mackie are putting on. Chris sits back on his heels. Licks his lips.

“I’ve got sudden new respect for anyone who’s ever sucked my dick,” he says honestly, hearing how his voice has gone all low and raspy, and Seb raises an eyebrow, blows him a kiss. When Chris turns his attention back to Mackie, it’s to find that he’s idly stroking his dick, still wet with Chris’ spit, and Chris opens his mouth, looks up until he’s making eye contact with Mackie.

“Oh,” Mackie murmurs, “Jesus, Chris, look at me like that and I’ll blow my load all over your face, I swear to god.”

“You could,” Chris shrugs, because in for a penny: he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t _mind_. Mackie makes this beautiful expression of surprise, touches his left hand to Chris’ cheek and then slides it up and into his hair, pulls him back down onto his dick and jacks it into Chris’ mouth for a moment or two. Chris keeps looking and looking at him; it’s good, it’s so _good_ , Mackie’s face is a picture.

“Say things like that and I will, fuck,” Mackie mutters. “Much as I’d love to, though, I’m pretty sure Seb would complain about it for about a thousand years if I don’t fuck him, so. You wanna come get in bed with us?”

“It’s my fucking bed,” Chris says, “so, yes. Please.” He’s pretty sure both Seb and Mackie laugh at that, the tacked-on politeness, but he can’t help it, it’s too deeply ingrained. There’s nothing _wrong_ with being polite during sex, he thinks. It’s just who he is. Whatever.

 

He kind of thinks it might be awkward once they all get in bed with each other, but it’s not; if anything it’s even hotter, Seb draped mostly on top of him and Anthony taking his time alternating between kissing the both of them until Chris at least feels light-headed.

“You got lube?” Mackie asks, and Chris tilts his head toward the bedside table.

“Top drawer, on the left,” he says, watches Mackie reach for it, and when Mackie glances back Chris’ face must be doing a thing because Mackie raises his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Chris says, “it’s just— you’re just real beautiful, you know that?”

“Oh,” Mackie says, “that’s— you’re sweet, Evans,” but there’s a little smile playing at the corner of his mouth, and Chris thinks that if he touched Mackie’s cheek right now it’d be flushed hot.

When Mackie cracks open the lube and starts fingering Seb open, Seb goes all loose, boneless, grinding up against Chris’ thigh and sinking his teeth into Chris’ clavicle tattoo. Chris has done women in the ass in the past, not often but on occasion at least, and based on that experience it seems like Sebastian is ready way too quick; Chris raises his eyebrows when Mackie sits back, reaches for a condom.

“No way,” he says, because, _seriously_ , and Mackie shrugs, rolls the condom onto his dick.

“You want it, sweetheart? Think you’re ready for it?”

“Fuckin’ _yeah_ I want it,” Seb moans, “come on, put it in me,” and Mackie grabs him by the hips, drags him up until he’s lying pretty much entirely on top of Chris. Chris has this sudden moment of realization, like: there’s no way he could close his eyes and pretend Seb’s a girl; he’s all hard muscle under hot skin, his dick pressing slick against Chris’, and the thing is Chris doesn’t _want_ to pretend, it’s just— it’s a lot to take in, is all.

When Mackie starts pushing in, Chris doesn’t know where to look: at Anthony’s face, eyes closed with how intense it must feel, or Sebastian, biting his lip and moaning almost under his breath.

“Feels good?” Chris asks, grabbing Seb by the hair, and Seb blinks a couple of times until he can focus on Chris’ face, smiles all goofy and leans in for an uncoordinated kiss that’s mostly teeth.

“ _So_ good,” he gasps, “Jesus, so good,” and Chris tightens his grip, kisses him again, reaches down to wrap his fingers around Seb’s dick. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” Seb swears. Thrusts up into it, hips stuttering, and Chris rubs his thumb through the precome welling wet and slick at the tip.

“Anthony giving you that good dick, Seb? I bet you’ve been begging for it,” he murmurs into Seb’s ear, feels himself blush hot with the attempt at dirty-talk, but it makes Seb moan again like it’s getting him off, and Chris is aware too of how hard he is. He fumbles between them until he can get a grip on both their dicks at once in his one hand, strokes them together, and Anthony grins down at him, snaps his hips so that Seb fucks straight into Chris’ palm.

“He does,” Mackie says, “he does beg for it, you got no idea, he’s so fucking needy, I swear to god,” and Seb laughs a little, breathless and dazed. Sets his teeth into the muscle of Chris’ shoulder, a sharp sting, and Mackie grabs his hair, yanks his head back. “Don’t mark Chris up, baby, not unless he wants it.”

“I do,” Chris admits, breathless himself, “fuck, I— I do, please, it’s, it’s good, I like it.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Seb hisses, like he’s just been waiting for permission, and Chris is pretty sure he’s gonna come out of this with teeth marks but fuck it, it’s so _much_ , they’re all hot skin and damp sweat, moving together in a rhythm that has his bed thumping against the wall, and Chris is, swear to god, gonna remember this as one of his hottest sexual experiences, Jesus.

“He’s been fantasizing about this,” Mackie says to Chris, voice tight with the effort of fucking Seb and probably with holding himself back from coming too, “you know that? You should have heard him, god. Isn’t that right, Seb? Talking about how much you wanted to suck his dick?”

“I-” Seb gasps, “I wanted—  _fuck_ , I just— please, I’m gonna—”

“You gonna come?” Chris asks. Squeezes Seb’s dick a little harder. “Gonna come all over me, Seb? Come on, you can bite me harder than that.” Seb does it, sinks his teeth right in until Chris is arching into it, breathing hard, and then Mackie angles his hips just right, fucks into Seb until he’s crying out and coming into Chris’ hand right along with Chris. Mackie doesn’t last much longer: just another couple of thrusts, and then he’s coming, moaning low in the back of his throat. It’s a noise so hot Chris feels his dick twitch like maybe he can come a little more, _Jesus_ , this is just-

It’s a lot. It’s really, really, a lot.

 

Mackie pulls out, tying off the condom and flinging it near but probably not actually _in_ the trash can, and then Seb and Mackie basically collapse in a heap on top of Chris, which is both lovely and incredibly sweaty, and leaves Chris grateful for all those three-hour workouts giving him enough bulk he’s not just crushed by their weight. He stares up at his ceiling. Feels his brain begin to come back online, slow like all his thought processes have been hard reset or something. He hasn’t had this much _quiet_ in his head for a long, long time.

“Fuck,” he gets out. “I think I need a cigarette.”

“We quit, remember?” Seb says, sounding mournful. Drags his fingertips through the puddle of come on Chris’ stomach, drawing spiral patterns in it, maybe. “Jesus, you’re a mess.”

“That’s at least half you,” Chris points out. Reaches for a tissue and wipes himself off, resisting the urge to smear it down Seb’s cheek. “Shit, okay. I’m done, you guys. You got me. I’m worn the fuck out.”

“But it was good, right?” Seb asks, reaching for Mackie over Chris’ chest, and Chris kisses Seb’s forehead, strokes his fingers over Mackie’s hip. Wonders how he wound up with both of them cuddling on him, their heads pillowed in the hollow of his shoulders. Perhaps they just know what he needs right now to feel grounded, to not get all weird and caught up in his own brain, and he’s suddenly touched by it, feels maybe a little teary with gratitude.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, it was good. It was real good. Thank you.”

“Are you gonna freak out?” Seb asks. “We can talk about it, if you’re freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” Chris says, and that’s mostly true, except— “Jesus, if this gets out to the gossip pages, PR is gonna kill us all.”

“So they won’t find out,” Mackie shrugs. “It’s cool, we can keep it on the low. Seb won’t post all those photos he just took of you on your knees on his Instagram. You’re really not freaking out?”

“Maybe later,” Chris says, yawning. “Too tired to freak out right now. So whose idea was this, anyway?”

“Anthony’s,” Seb murmurs, just as Mackie is saying _Sebastian’s, definitely_ , and Chris laughs into his pillow.

“Really? That’s how it is?”

Maybe it was the both of them, Chris thinks. Maybe they saw the way he looked at them, came up with a plan. He’s sure he’ll get the story someday, but right now, all that matters is how they’ve made space for him in whatever it is that this is.

**Author's Note:**

> so I read that esquire profile of Chris Evans, right, and then suddenly: Chris Evans feelings, just, E V E R Y W H E R E
> 
> "it's not jealousy" Chris says  
> spoiler: it is  
> "i don't swing that way" Chris says  
> spoiler: he does
> 
> come join me [on tumblr](http://notcaycepollard.tumblr.com/)


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